


I Will Remember You

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TSbyBS, Blair has left Cascade and is now working as deputy sheriff in a small town in California.</p>
<p>See end note for spoilery warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Remember You

**I Will Remember You by Alyjude**

 

 

**"One word we never could learn: Good-bye" - Amy Grant**

 

"You want to make another run down to the park?"

Blair looked up from the report he was typing and grinned. "You want me to go?"

"Well, you're off in twenty and it's on your way...."

Blair wasn't fooled. "It's on your way home too, old man."

"Such disrespect."

"If the shoe fits."

"So I should go by the park, check it out?"

"Yes, Sheriff, I think you should go by the park, check it out because you should have gone home a while back. And," Blair checked his watch, "if you leave now, you'll just catch Marion as she's closing up shop. Man, what timing."

Sheriff Joseph Ramsey got slowly to his feet as if still pondering the idea of moseying on down to the park. He locked up his desk and finally said, "Yep, I think I'll just head on out... make sure our park is safe... and all. Cory is due any minute and I expect you to hasta your way out of here."

"What an idea. Since that's how you have the shifts set up... and all." He chuckled before adding slyly, "You have a good time checking out that park, okay?"

Reaching for his hat, which was hanging on a peg by the door, Joe said, "You know, I'm getting the distinct feeling that you think I have ulterior motives for wanting to check out the park before I go home."

Looking innocent enough to fool the angels, Blair said, "Moi?"

Joe set his hat on his head, pulled down the front brim, gave the side his usual swipe, and said, "Yes, YOU."

He opened the door and, just as he started out, Blair said helpfully, "I'm thinking you and Marion should grab dinner at Meryl's tonight. She's got fresh lobster and you know Marion is a sucker for shellfish."

Blair's answer was the slamming of the door as Joe walked out - laughing.

Grinning, he turned back to his report on the "... wanton destruction of Mrs. Grumby's favorite tomato plant by the Michelson twins...."

Half an hour later, he was caught up and ready to check out and go home. Cory had arrived on time and was cleaning up, as she always did when she first walked in. She seemed to think that just because two men had the shift before her, that the office - and the cells, which were inevitably empty - would be dirty. For a thirty-eight year old deputy sheriff, she was a real fussbudget. She was also sweeter than all get out - unless you crossed her, of course. After all, she was a deputy sheriff.

"Hey, Cory," he yelled back to her. "I'm outta here."

"Okay, be there in a minute - and how in the heck do you two let these cells get so bad, huh?"

He rolled his eyes even as he cleared his desk and locked it up. Unlike Joe, Cory and Tom McBride, their other deputy sheriff, Blair chose not to wear the official hat. He thought he looked beyond stupid in it. Of course, it could also be the fact that over at Charlie's Grill, the first time he'd shown up in his uniform - and wearing the hat - the gang had started calling him "Annie Oakley".

Nah, that wasn't it. He was very secure in his deputy sheriff-ishness. So to speak. Especially since cutting his hair.

Cory walked in, dust cloth in hand. "Have a good night, okay? See you Saturday."

"You bet. Tom isn't going to flake out on you tonight, is he?"

"Nah, Joe had a talk with him and I think he'll straighten up. Not that I need anyone for the late shift - or anything." She winked at him.

"Yeah, we're such an active little town," Blair said as he grinned at her. "Okay, I'm off. Call me if Tom... you know."

"I will. 'Night."

Blair gave her a little wave before walking out. And yes, he fully expected a phone call later.

Cory and Tom made up the five-to-five shift with Cory starting at five and going off at two while Tom came in at eight and went off at five in the morning when Joe took over. Blair came on three hours later. On Saturday, he switched with Mike and joined Cory for the late shift. He was off on Sundays and Mondays. His current life didn't leave much room for anything like, for instance, dating, but suited him just fine.

Blair began the comfortable, two-mile walk to his bungalow, a small rental he'd snagged, thanks to Joe, upon first arriving in Laytonville almost a year previously. He still couldn't get over the fact that the quaint Northern California town actually had a Main Street - let alone that it _was_ the main street - as well as Highway 101, a highway that ran through the state of California. He literally lived and worked in "Smalltown, USA" and that still never ceased to amaze him.

"Hey, Blair, how's it hangin', man?"

"Low and heavy, Blue. You?"

"Your paper arrived, so I'm feeling damn fine. I don't think I coulda taken that look of yours again."

Blair came up to the newsstand even as he fished around in his pocket for the necessary change. He finally found four quarters and handed them over as he asked, "Look? What look?"

"You know darn well what I'm talkin' about. Every time I've had to tell you it hadn't arrived yet, you go and get this... this... _lost_ look about ya. Oh, you hide it well and always laugh it off, but it was there, boy. One of these days you'll tell me about it. Tell me what you left behind that brings this paper here and that lost look when it's late."

Stuffing the precious item under his arm, Blair said, "Maybe, Blue. Maybe I will. Of course, most of it is unbelievable and after I told you, I'd have to-"

Laughing, Blue held up one hand in supplication. "I get it, I get it. But still, it might be worth it. I'm gonna get you drunk one of these days and then we'll see."

Chuckling, Blair said, "I look forward to it. See you later, Blue."

He walked on, still smiling. Blue, a native of Laytonville and proprietor of the Laytonville Newsstand for over fifty years, was one of Blair's favorite people. There'd been more than a few Sundays spent with Blue and his wife Louise at their small ranch house a few miles out of town. Over fried chicken, potato salad, collard greens and peach pie a la mode, the world would be discussed with great gusto and washed down with Louise's special iced tea. On those wonderful days, Blair actually didn't think about - anything. A moment here, a busy second over there, and the occasional Sunday with Blue's family - and no thoughts about Cascade or... Jim.

It would always leave him stunned when those fleeting moments would pass and he'd bring himself up with a start and acknowledge to himself, "I didn't think about him."

His home came into view and he found his steps speeding up. Not that he was all that anxious to get home, not that his little bit of heaven wasn't nice to get home to, but what he really wanted was to sit down with a beer and the Cascade Times. He wanted to catch up on his old life - taste it, savor it.

He took it slow, holding back his impatience deliberately. He'd undress and shower first. Get real comfortable before... opening the paper.

It was a nerve-wracking thirty minutes later that, in a Cascade PD cropped t-shirt and jeans, he walked barefoot into the kitchenette. He pulled a beer out of the fridge, took his time unscrewing the cap, and finally, almost breathlessly, walked over to the couch to sit down, the paper in front of him on the coffee table.

He took a couple of swallows but never took his eyes from the folded prize. He wanted this to last, to savor every moment.

Eventually he had to reach for it, had to pick it up, unfold it - and he was staring at the oh-so-familiar banner.

Lord, he was pathetic.

It was moments like these when he regretted his decision. Regretted "doing the right thing" and getting out of Jim's life. Regretted not pulling Jim aside the moment he'd received the call from Sid. Regretted not locking up his computer before leaving his mother alone in the loft.

He smoothed his hand over the black and white print and it was almost as if he could smell the city - his city. His and Jim's. Okay, Jim's. But his by virtue of having been the quirky sidekick. And supposedly the Shaman of the Great City. Ha.

God, so many regrets.

He was thirty. A man his age shouldn't have this many deep-to-the-bone regrets. For that matter - no one should.

Thank all the gods in heaven that he'd never broken down and told Jim about his unusually strong feelings for him. Feelings that had felt an helluva lot like love and in some instances - like when Jim was wearing nothing but a towel around his waste - lust.

All right, it's time to start reading. He took another swig of the cold beer and, after wedging the bottle between his thighs, he opened the paper. He skipped the front page - because it covered the national news - and went straight to the Cascade section.

He pursed his lips. Okay, this was interesting. They'd finally closed down Center Street, west of the Rawlings Bridge. Didn't it just figure that only after he'd left, they'd decide it was the time to redo that hell hole?

He kept reading, moving on to city government.

Mmm, seemed the new mayor was doing better. Actually got the new high school on the docket and had the property all lined up. Amazing. He read the editorial page and got a good laugh from Brian Hemmings, a regular columnist who loved making fun of the rich of Cascade. He'd nailed them this time. A benefit for AIDS in third world countries raised a hundred thousand dollars. Only problem was, the benefit cost _three_   hundred thousand.

Okay, he'd read everything, including the weather, which meant that it was time to go to the last couple of pages. The pages that usually gave the crime stories and statistics.

He never really expected to find anything about Jim, certainly never expected to see his picture - so he was damn surprised when turning the page, that was precisely what stared back at him.

At first, his only thought was that it was a good - even great - photo. His second thought was that he was probably the only person in the world who knew that the dark blur to the right of Jim's shoulder was... him. The photo was an old one, from the night Jim had accepted his first "Detective of the Year" award.

Blair had no third thought.

His mind froze at the same moment that he stopped breathing. Then his hands began to shake while his heart began to hammer painfully in his chest as the headline over the photo seemed to scream at him.

**MOST HONORED CASCADE POLICE OFFICER IN PD HISTORY - SHOT AND KILLED**

Silent and still, Blair stared at the words.

Outside, the sun went down and Mrs. McGregor walked her dog, Tipsy. Mr. Collins turned his water sprinklers on and carried the groceries into the house.

At Meryl's, Joe and Marion ate lobster and enjoyed the kind of tension that surrounded a dinner between two people who hoped that they'd end up in bed later in the evening.

And Blair continued to sit silent and still.

Tom arrived at the station, albeit late, and Cory walked Main Street, as was her usual procedure. She smiled, waved, winked and joked with her fellow townspeople. Tom played games on the office computer.

And Blair continued to sit - silent and still - in his living room.

Enthralled, mother and fathers, families and friends watched a production of The Crucible at Laytonville High School. At Branscomb Park, the Edison family hosted a family reunion. There were over fifty of them and their party went long into the night.

And Blair continued to sit - silent and still - in his living room.

On Dawson Street, Mickey Lowe decided to get back at his father - who refused to buy him a car for his upcoming graduation - by tossing bricks through the front windows of his father's appliance store. When the alarms went off, he took off.

And Blair continued to sit - silent and still - in his living room.

He was so damned cold. Cold everywhere. The words of the article were burned into his brain and heart - and yet he was frigid.

_Detective Ellison was off-duty at the time of the shooting...._

Blair swallowed hard. That must have pissed Jim off royally. The one thing he'd always hoped was that when it was his time he'd be on the job - doing what he was meant to do: Protect and Serve.

_The streets were full of high school revelers celebrating the Cascade Cardinals' league win over their number one rival, the Pius X Knights. Traffic was at a standstill as the teens spilled out from the baseball stadium. Fireworks were being shot off and no one heard the discharge of the gun that fired the fatal shot...._

He would have been scanning the crowd, ever watchful for the teens, ready to move if they needed him. The fireworks would mask the tell-tale sounds that would normally have alerted him to the danger.

_The motive behind the shooting is not yet known, but it would appear more than coincidental that Detective Ellison was scheduled to testify against Leonard Milton in the upcoming murder trial. Captain Simon Banks of Major Crime told this reporter that all of Detective Ellison's cases, past and present, were being thoroughly investigated...._

Blair glanced back down at the paper and noted that a memorial service was scheduled for Saturday, followed by a graveside service with full police honors. Jim would have hated that, but the gang would need it. William Ellison and Steven would need it. And Jim deserved it as no other officer ever would.

Slowly Blair stood, the paper slipping from his lap to land on the floor at his feet. He didn't pay it any more attention as he walked to his front door and outside. His street was quiet and still as he began to walk.

He had no agenda, only the need to be outside. After thirty minutes, he lifted a hand and absently wiped the odd moisture from his face. He kept on walking.

***

"O-kay, you look like shit," Joe said as Blair walked into the office Thursday morning.

"I... I have to go, Joe. I have to go to Cascade," Blair said dully.

Joe cocked his head and really looked at his deputy. He was up a moment later and pulling out a chair. Putting both his hands gently on Blair's shoulders, he pushed him down. He then went over to the coffee pot, poured Blair a cup and, back at his own desk, pulled a small flask from his bottom drawer. He laced Blair's coffee with the strong bourbon and then placed the mug between Blair's very cold hands.

"Drink up and then tell me what's wrong," he commanded softly.

He watched Blair blow over the top of the dark liquid before taking a tentative sip - and it didn't fail his notice that Blair's hands were shaking. He waited for a couple of minutes before finally asking, his voice gentle, "Is it Naomi?"

Blair shook his head. "No. She's fine. I... have to attend a funeral. A friend. Just... a friend."

Joe found, as he looked at the shell that was his friend and best deputy, that all he could think was, "... must be one helluva friend."

"It's Saturday, need to leave-"

"No problem, Blair. Don't worry about it. We can cover you, you know that. Take whatever time you need," he reassured.

"Back on Sunday," Blair said as he stared at the mug in his hands. "Yeah, Sunday."

"Have you made airline reservations yet?"

Blair nodded, eyes still on the mug.

"So you'll need a ride. No problem. You've got it. When?"

"Tomorrow. Probably should be at the airport by eleven. And thanks, Joe."

Joe would have felt a whole hell of a lot better if Blair's voice or demeanor showed any of the usual life normally exhibited by the younger man. He put a hand on Blair's shoulder and said softly, "Go home, Blair. Go home."

For the first time, Blair looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot - and desperate. "No, I'd rather... I need... just let me do my job today, okay?"

There was no way Joe could have said no. Not to the haunted look in Blair's eyes.

"Sure, Blair. Sure," he finally said. "Business as usual."

Blair seemed to relax a bit then, his body slumping down in the chair as if all his muscles had loosened. "Thanks, Joe. Just... thanks."

***

"Come on, Blair, we're leaving."

Blair glanced up from his paperwork and cocked his head. "Leaving?"

"Yeah, as in home. You're coming home with me tonight. The rest of your shift is taken care of so let's amscray."

"Joe, I can-"

"Blair, this isn't up for discussion. We're going to my place, we're going to barbecue some steaks and I'm going to get you drunk. Then tomorrow, I'm taking you to the airport. End of story. Now hustle your buns."

Blair thought about refusing - for two whole seconds. But the idea of not going home to be alone with his thoughts, memories and failings was too enticing. He got up and grabbed his jacket. "What's the poison of choice, Joe?"

"Well," Joe said as he slipped his jacket on, "we'll start with beer, two tall cool ones, then graduate to wine with dinner and finally a nice brandy on the patio."

"Can't turn that down, man."

Cory, who'd come in early at Joe's request, walked over to them and patted her boss on the back. "You sure know how to put on a great barbecue, Joe."

"Not really," he said with a devilish smile. "We're having steak. Just steak." Laughing, he ushered Blair out the door.

Joe had, naturally, fibbed to Cory. Oh, there was steak, all right, but it was joined by grilled corn-on-the-cob, a salad, hot French bread, and of course, the beer and wine. Blair managed to force down enough of the food to keep Joe happy, but he had no difficulty swallowing the beer or wine. He now had a nice buzz going - a very nice buzz - and was looking forward to the brandy.

They were still on the patio in spite of a slight chill that had crept into the night air. Joe was getting the brandy and Blair was content to remain in his slightly muddled condition. It was so easy to keep... thoughts... from intruding this way.

"Here you go, Blair."

He twisted his head around and smiled at the surreal whoosh the move gave him. He took the brandy snifter from Joe but didn't drink immediately. Instead he let it warm in his hand. Joe sat down and sighed contentedly, which made Blair say, "You'd be happier right now if a certain shop owner were sitting here instead of me."

Joe chuckled softly. "You probably have a point. But I'm pretty darn content as it is, so I'll settle." He looked over at Blair, cocked his head and asked, "So, you going to tell me now?"

Blair would like to have been drunk enough to not know what Joe meant, but he wasn't. On the other hand, he was drunk enough to talk. Had a need to talk. But first, he had a couple of questions.

"You never asked about my past or my references, Joe. Why was that?"

"I knew who you were, Blair. I was in Tacoma when you and Detective Ellison made the news. When you showed up here all those months later - looking pretty damn haunted, I might add - and applied for the opening, I figured there was more to the story than was obvious. Besides, my buddy in Tacoma had quite a few good things to say about you."

Blair turned a bleary eye on Joe. "Buddy?"

"Captain Mark Upton. You and Detective Ellison helped him out on a case when you were in Tacoma to pick up a prisoner."

"Ah, yes. Joe Picone. So you knew I was a liar and a fraud but you hired me anyway? I may have to rethink my very high opinion of you, Joe."

Joe gave another light chuckle before saying, "You're no liar and you're no fraud, Blair. I've been in law enforcement for thirty years - I'm a damn good judge of character. I don't know the whole story but I can guess some of it."

"You can, can you? You're better than I am then. I lived it and still can't figure out how so much went so wrong, so fast."

Joe didn't reply and Blair settled back in his chair and let the quiet night envelope him. He took a sip of the brandy and after a couple of silent minutes - told Joe everything. After all, there was no longer any reason not to.

"A real sentinel, then," Joe breathed out, his voice telegraphing his awe.

Blair nodded, too choked up to speak.

"I'd like to have met him," Joe said softly.

Blair hadn't gone any further in telling his story than his decision to leave Cascade in order to keep Jim safe, but he wasn't surprised that Joe had figured out that the funeral he would be attending was Jim's. Voice strangled by emotion, Blair managed to say, "He would have liked you, Joe. All the way."

"You know, friendship is a wonderful thing, and I'm all for it, but no matter how much we talk it up, it only takes us so far. So I think... there's more than that with you and Detective Ellison. You lost more than your best buddy, didn't you?"

Vision suddenly unfocused, Blair found himself nodding even as his body went numb.

"I lost... everything," he finally said, his voice sounding distant and unfamiliar.

***

Joe pulled the blanket up to Blair's neck and stepped back. He stared down at the younger man for a moment before turning and walking out of the spare room. He left the door slightly ajar and walked into his own room. He'd give anything to be able to accompany Blair tomorrow, but it wasn't possible. Besides, he had a feeling Blair wouldn't welcome the intrusion. He knew Blair had phoned his mother - that she'd offered to fly in from Europe to join him - and that Blair had told her no. A real no, not the kind that said, "I'm saying no when I really mean yes, please," so he had no reason to believe that Blair would want him along if he didn't want his own mother.

He just hoped Blair would come back. He had a home here - and people who cared. And he'd need that to make it. His guilt over Jim Ellison's death would eat him alive if he didn't have some kind of support.

***

"You look like shit, Blair."

Blair shrugged as he pulled the strap of his overnighter higher up on his shoulder. "Payback for a night of unremembered slumber. No dreams, no... just no dreams. It was worth it."

"You going to be okay?"

"Sure. Don't worry, Joe. I come in at-"

"I know. Five on Sunday. I'll be here."

Before Blair could say anything, his flight was called. He looked up at Joe and smiled. "Guess this is it. Thanks, man. For last night, for this - for... everything."

Joe nodded and wrapped his arms around the younger man. He held him tight for just a moment before letting go and stepping back. "See you on Sunday, Blair. Call if you need to talk."

"I will."

Blair turned and headed for the gate. As he handed his ticket over, he glanced back, smiled again, and gave Joe a jaunty little wave before disappearing.

Feeling strangely bereft, Joe turned and walked out of the small airport.

***

**"I will be walking one day, down a street far away, and see a face in the crowd and smile. Knowing how you made me laugh, hearing sweet echoes of you from the past I will remember you" - Amy Grant**

The flight was made in a blur of alcohol because he knew that he'd really need to be flying high when he landed; when he faced... Cascade again. And as far as travel arrangements on the ground - well, he'd just take a taxi to the motel. No driving required. Walking - yes. He'd need to be able to walk out of the airport on his own two feet, to get to the cab pick-up, and then to check-in and make the distance to his room.

After that, all bets were off.

He just needed to make it through tonight. And tomorrow.

And the rest of his life.

***

Dumping the larger bag on the stand at the foot of the bed, Blair looked around. Gee, when had he last been in a dump like this? Oh, yeah... Alex. Okay, won't go there. Snap that memory down, man.

Blair took the brown grocery bag in his hand and set it on the small dresser. Ice, he really needed ice. Others could take their booze neat but not him. On the rocks. He was such a wuss.

He picked up the ice buckets and walked back outside. It was a short stroll down the hall to the loud churning ice machine. Fortunately, his room wasn't right next door this time. Not that he'd be all that aware - later.

Once he had the bucket full, he swayed his way back to the room, where upon he shut and locked the door.

The ceiling was really ugly, Blair thought. Really. All those pesky - and rusty - water spots. He swiped a hand over his eyes and felt the grittiness of exhaustion, grief and shock. He was tired but didn't dare close them. Didn't dare because all he'd see - was Jim.

Jim.

His Jim.

Dead.

God, he couldn't imagine it. Couldn't get his mind around it even now. Even in Jim's city, a few hours away from the service - he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe a world without Jim's laugh, or the way his eyes crinkled up, or the way he blew over his coffee to cool it. A world where Jim wouldn't cock his head in interest because he could smell Simon's newest pastry, or where the rarely seen devil's-son grin would make an appearance just before he got that "Oh, this is going to be good" look on his face. Like with Finkleman. No, such a world wasn't one that he now wanted to inhabit.

The only thing that had made leaving Jim in the first place had been the knowledge that Jim would be there.

Would - BE.

Be happier, be safer, and be free of the man who'd nearly taken everything from him.

Leaving Jim had been the most difficult and unselfish thing he'd ever done, destroying his career a mere drop in the bucket by comparison.

Damn, he could still Jim's face when he came home early the day Blair was leaving. Could see the way Jim's eyes traveled over Blair's luggage and the boxes in the corner - the labeled boxes. Then Jim had looked around, taking in the number of items no longer in sight. The touches of their home that had been Blair. And finally, the way he'd looked at Blair; blue eyes going icy, strong jaw locking....

_"So. You're leaving._

_"Yeah, Jim. I am. I think... it's for the best. I can't really see me carrying, can you? And unless I'm prepared to work at the local Jack-in-the-Box - and it's doubtful that even they'd take me - I'm pretty much forced to relocate. You can't tell me I'm wrong in this, Jim."_

Blair could still see the surrender in Jim's body language. The way his shoulders had slumped while his jaw unlocked - and how the color of his eyes went from iceberg-blue to cloudy grey.

_"So where are you going? And how long?"_

_"I'm not sure, but I'm thinking Central California. I remember liking it when Naomi settled us in Medicino County when I was... I think twelve. I'll keep in touch, Jim. After all, it's about friendship with us, isn't it?"_

Blair could remember so clearly how he'd unconsciously leaned forward, hoping against hope that Jim would disagree, would tell him that what they had was so much more than friendship, that friendship was only the foundation. But Jim had only nodded and offered to help Blair do whatever else he needed to do.

Then they were saying the goodbye that Blair had tried so hard to avoid. He'd given Jim a letter for Simon, Jim had solicited a promise that whenever - and wherever - Blair landed, he'd call. That they'd keep in touch - no matter what.

Blair had called - once - three days after he'd arrived in Laytonville. Even now, Blair experienced the same tingling feeling that hearing Jim's voice had given him a year ago. He could hear it rumbling low in his heart and sighing through his veins.

He'd been so hopelessly in love.

Was still hopelessly in love.

Silent tears slid down his cheeks as he let his memories of one of the most incredible men play across his mind.

All the bops on the head, the teasing affection, the life lessons given, but never as if Blair were less than Jim. His amazing senses and what he could do with them; the way he'd always say, "Do you hear that?" or "Can't you see that?" Always said with true innocence, as only a man who couldn't comprehend his uniqueness would say it. The way he tried so hard to protect all that he felt was in his charge.

Oh, God, and his bedhead.

Blair grinned in spite of the tears. Jim and his bedhead. He'd pad down the stairs, sometimes in a robe, sometimes not, but always with one hand in his hair, rubbing the short hair until it was even more spiked than when he'd awoken. He make his way to the kitchen and the automatic coffee maker the way a man who'd spent several days in the desert without water would approach a well. Sometimes the ruffled hair would be due to the pushed up night mask; those moments being some of Blair's most cherished.

Then there was the way Jim looked in a simple pair of jeans. God, no one looked hotter than Jim Ellison in jeans.

And he'd died alone.

Blair closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the image of the dead and helpless Jim that immediately popped into his mind.

This was so damn unfair. It should have been him, not the Sentinel of the Great City. Not Jim. He should have been seated next to Jim, should have somehow taken the bullet, or at least gone out with Jim. But no, he had to go all noble and play the splitsville card, leaving Jim alone - to die.

Blair reached for the bottle.

***

Morning dawned with the usual spectacular Pacific Northwest sunrise. Blair watched it from his window while sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only his shorts, a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker in the bathroom in his hand. He'd had no sleep in spite of guzzling enough liquor to have put down an elephant.

The service was in four hours, but he planned on slipping into the church a few minutes after it had started in order to avoid being seen. Although he didn't think anyone would recognize him now, not with his short hair. He looked nothing like the kid that had left Cascade - couldn't even believe he'd ever been that kid.

Hairboy. Chief. Sandburg.

Nobody called him Sandburg now. It was always Blair or Deputy Sandburg. Funny how, outside of Cascade, his first name actually existed. He took a sip of the hot liquid and decided to shower, get dressed, rent a car, and maybe go for a drive. See his city a final time - because he knew that nothing in this world would ever get him here again.

Cascade was sparkling brightly in the early morning sun. There was no fog or haze, only clear blue skies. Blair thought that was unfitting. The city's Guardian was going to be buried today - the city should cry. Should weep for its fallen hero.

He knew he was only one block over from Prospect, knew that all he had to do was make a right at the next block and he'd be there - in front of 852 - but he kept going, by-passing the street. He wasn't ready for that, not yet.

He drove through Rainier, even parked near Hargrove Hall and the fountain. Funny how it was just that now - a fountain. He'd died in it and yet the water shooting up to cascade down was just that - water. Not death. He glanced over at the grass where he knew his body had been placed... and could almost see everyone; Simon, Megan, Rafe, Henri - and Jim. He quickly averted his gaze and looked with more interest at the kids starting to fill the campus.

God, they looked so damn young. Had he ever looked that way? The innocence shining off their faces, the idealism - had his face ever reflected the same?

He finally started the rental and backed out of the parking space - just as he'd done a million times for so many years.

He knew the church because it was the one Jim had attended as a child and his father and brother still attended. The parking lot was full, as was the street, so he ended up parking several blocks away. He hadn't been surprised to notice the news media trucks in front of the church but there was a side entrance that he was pretty certain would allow him to slip in as planned - unnoticed. He sat in the car for a minute, gathering up the nerve it would take to get out and actually enter the church. He was responsible for this, for Jim's death, for the loss of the man who lived to protect others. He wondered if he could carry this burden.

He finally got out and headed up the street.

Thankfully, the side door was open and he walked into the cool, dim narthex and stopped. The doors to the nave were shut but he could hear the rumble of a voice, not the words, but the timbre of a voice. He waited a moment and, when the sound stopped and was replaced by music, he figured it was a good time to try to slip in.

***

Henri Brown stood as Simon left the chancel and walked back toward the pews. Henri stepped aside and, just as Simon was slipping in to retake his seat, the door opened and a man wearing a long dark coat and sunglasses entered. The stranger slid into the back pew -- and alarms went off in Henri's head. When Simon sat down, Henri took his seat next to him and gave him a nudge. When the older man leaned close, he whispered, "Stranger just arrived. Back pew - short dark hair and shades."

Simon nodded and whispered soft fast words into the hidden mic that was doing a good imitation of a boutonniere. It was a church full of cops but many of them were on duty. After all, they had a murdered cop - and experience told them that the killer would probably be checking out the service. And now a dark stranger had entered the church.

***

God, they looked good. All of them. Somber, but good. Simon had to have been the voice he'd heard upon his arrival, but he was seated now, surrounded by the rest of the gang. Megan was on one side of him, Henri Brown on the other. Next to Megan sat Joel Taggart and next to him, Rafe. Blair recognized several other officers and detectives but wondered where William and Steven were. He'd expected them to be in the front pew on the other side, but they weren't.

Finally he couldn't stall any longer. He had to look at the casket. The long casket, lid closed, and covered with a blanket of flowers.

Oh, God, this was the worst yet. The idea that all that strength, humor, love, commitment, confusion, hurt and brilliance was now contained within that damn thing - no, it was just wrong. So very wrong.

At that moment, the minister came out of a door, followed by William and Steven. Of course, they would have been sequestered until the service officially began. He wasn't surprised to see that Sally was between the two men. All three took their seats to the left of the lectern and the service began.

Blair lasted twenty minutes. That was it. His heart was beating too fast, his breaths harder and harder to capture. His vision was blurring and if he didn't get out now - he'd lose it big time. He rose quickly and stepped out into the aisle and out the doors. A few moments later, he was on the sidewalk, still having difficulty breathing.

He knew where he had to go.

***

_"Simon, he just left."_

The voice hissed the static words in Simon's ear and he nodded slightly before whispering back, "You've got people on him?"

_"We do."_

"Keep me posted."

Now that he thought about it, he doubted the stranger had anything to do with all of this. It was highly unlikely he'd be so obvious. No, whoever he was, he had nothing to do with the case. Simon turned his attention back to the service.

***

Blair stood in front of 852, one hand in his pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a small key. The key he'd never returned to Jim. The key to number three-o-seven. In spite of the coat and the black turtleneck sweater underneath, he was shivering. The weather was mild, but he couldn't control the slight tremors that ran through his body. He sucked in a deep breath and pulled open the door.

God, it even smelled the same, and it shouldn't because Jim wasn't here any more. It should smell - musty... and - old... and - dead.

He walked over to the elevator and pushed the button, only to be shocked when the door slid open. That, like, never happened when he'd lived here. If the damn thing worked at all, it was always up when you were down, and down when you were up. He stepped in and, with a shaking hand, pushed the button with the three on it. The elevator door slid shut and the elevator moved silently upward.

***

Simon cocked his head. He was missing something. Okay, review: A dark stranger who couldn't be involved because the bad guys were never that obvious, but perhaps a good guy trying not to be obvious would act exactly as the stranger had acted?

Stranger.

At Jim's funeral.

A gut feeling that he still couldn't give a name to drove him to lower his head slightly and speak quickly into the mic, "Do we still have him?"

_"I'm checking now, Captain."_

A moment later the voice came back on with the bad news. They'd lost him at Maris Circle. An accident, traffic jam - yadda-yadda.

Damn.

The service was over and people were standing, making their way down the aisle. Now the procession to the gravesite. He'd have to puzzle this out later.

***

Blair ran his finger over the brass numbers - 3-0-7 - before unlocking the door to the only home he'd ever truly known. Pushing the door inward, he stood on the threshold, unable to move.

The loft was quiet, dim, and still. The shades were drawn and, after sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he took his first tentative steps inside, closing the door behind him and dropping the key back into his pocket.

The loft had never been this quiet. Never. And it was obvious that Jim's friends and family had yet to begin the process of packing him away. Blair was grateful for that now as he walked around touching those things that had been Jim's; things like books, CD's, and a sweater tossed casually over the back of one of the dining room chairs.

There was dust, but not as much as he'd expected. Someone was keeping it fairly clean. He lifted the sweater and, after holding it to his face and inhaling nothing of Jim, he started up the stairs to the bedroom.

The closer he got, the slower his steps. When he hit the top, he paused, one foot still on the stair. If at all possible, it was even quieter up here. Streaks of weak light fell across the floor, particles of dust floating easily, captured in the beams. The bed was made, of course, and everything was neat and tidy. There was a bag of cleaning hanging from the metal rods that created Jim's closet and, after setting the sweater down on the bed, Blair walked over to the cleaning. He took it down, pulled the clear plastic away and fingered the first item - Jim's cream-colored cable-knit sweater.

The date on the cleaning tag was over a week old. Blair winced with the realization that Jim must have picked it up the day before he died. Any earlier and he would have put it all away. As it was, the fact that he'd left it hanging for even one day told Blair that either he'd been called out, or life was - had been - so hectic that Jim had simply not had the chance to put his clothes away.

Blair would do it for him.

When he was done, he sat down on the bed.

Curious, he reached over and picked up the book on the nightstand. He smiled. Scott Turow's latest. He opened it at the bookmark and was surprised to note that the thin laminated card was full of wolves.

Wolves.

Forehead creased in thought, he rubbed the item with his thumb. Wolves. His spirit animal.

Suddenly as if burned, he dropped both book and bookmark, rose quickly to his feet and moved toward the stairs. He almost ran down them only to freeze once he hit bottom.

He couldn't handle this. He couldn't.

***

Simon stood a few feet away from William and Steven Ellison. Their faces were pale as they stood close, shoulders touching. Sally was seated in front of the two men and Simon had to admire all three. He let his gaze travel around the gravesite, looking for anyone out of place - but came up empty-handed. Cops, family, friends.

Friends.

Friends....

Holy shit.

The man in the long dark coat. Maris Circle.

Only someone completely familiar with the city and the death hazard that was Maris Circle could have managed to get around an accident and subsequent traffic jam. Someone who was used to weaving in and out and around as if traffic laws existed for others...

... and the pieces fell into place.

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh GodohGod.

He looked frantically around, heard the minister say the final words, and made a decision. He could guess where their "stranger" had gone after prematurely leaving the service. Oh, yes, he could guess.

Which was precisely where he needed to go - NOW. This was too dangerous to contemplate.

***

**"I'll be your champion and you'll be mine" - Amy Grant**

The complete utter loneliness hit then.

The total absence of Jim Ellison.

Blair swayed, stumbled a few feet, then backed himself into the corner where the stairs and his old room met. He slowly slid down the wall until his butt hit the floor. He drew his knees up, dropped his head down and closed his eyes tight against the tears that threatened.

***

The man moved quickly and silently through the alley between 852 and 854 Prospect. When he got to the stairs for 852, he paused, cocked his head and, satisfied that he hadn't been followed, started up.

At the top, he shifted a bit, got the door open, and slipped quickly inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he started toward the French doors opposite, but a sound froze him in his tracks.

***

Simon drove like a maniac. He'd already called the two units that had 852 Prospect under surveillance to let them know not to stop the man if he showed up.

Because it had to be Blair.

Somehow Blair - from wherever he'd been living - had heard the news.

Simon knew this as surely as he knew his own name. He also knew that because Blair would go to 852 Prospect - dangerous was an understatement.

***

A heartbeat - a well-known, beloved heartbeat - in his living room.

Jim opened the doors, stepped out, looked down and said in disbelief, "Chief?"

_Chief?_

Slowly Blair lifted his head from his knees. His sunglasses wobbled and slid from his head to land on the floor. He ignored them as he found himself staring up at... at ....

"Jim?"

He knew he'd just squeaked the name out, but damn, he was so not expecting to see the man whose long legs were planted in front of him.

The man towering above him smiled - and in that moment, Blair knew he was really looking at Jim. Not a ghost, nor an apparition, not even a dream, but the real thing.

Jim went down into a semi-squat and said conversationally, "Long time no see. How ya' been?"

Smiling tremulously himself now, Blair said, "Not bad - at this precise moment. Thought I'd lost the most important person in my life, but seems that the reports of his death were greatly exaggerated."

"Me and Mark Twain, buddy."

They stared at each other, eyes crinkled up with their wide smiles. Finally Jim looked at the bag in his arms and said, "Groceries. Need to be put away."

"Okay."

Neither of them moved. Nearly identical blue eyes searched the face opposite, almost as if reassuring them that the other was really there. Finally Jim put the bag of groceries down and, by some agreed upon, yet completely silent acknowledgement, they moved toward each other until they were both firmly enveloped in the other's arms.

Jim buried his face in hair he'd been dreaming about for months - albeit much shorter now - and Blair hugged his face into the spot just under Jim's chin. He inhaled the scent that had been absent on the sweater; the scent he'd been dreaming of, and tightened his hold around the older man's body.

"You left for me, didn't you?" Jim breathed into Blair's hair.

"You guys are setting someone up, aren't you?" Blair breathed into Jim's neck.

"Sort of. Due to testify against Leonard Milton. Gonna surprise the hell out of him on Monday," Jim answered as he nuzzled deeper into the now short hair.

"Yeah, it was the only way I knew to protect you, man."

"You got your hair cut."

"Your funeral was nice - premature, but nice."

"Was it?"

"Yeah, I did. Long hair doesn't go over well in Smalltown, USA. At least, not for a deputy sheriff. And why no guard for you? No safe house?"

"Deputy Sheriff? And what could a guard do for me that I can't? Besides, we didn't want shifts going in and out - kind of a dead giveaway. And you're a... deputy sheriff?"

"Ah, got it. And yep, a deputy. Laytonville, California. So this Milton guy put the hit out on you?"

Jim pulled far enough away to look carefully at Blair. "Damn, you lied. All that crap about carrying - and I fell for it. Actually fell for it. And yeah, Milton. He took over the Orsini Cartel."

Blair traced his finger along Jim's jaw line. "It was plausible - believable. Even true, to a certain extent. This is Cascade and hanging around with you pretty much guaranteed that I'd have to use. In Laytonville, I've never even had to raise my voice. The biggest crime spree we've experienced to date is the assault on General McGregor. And what happened to Orsini?"

"Wow, I'm impressed. Heart attack. Real, too."

Head cocked, Blair said, "Don't be. General McGregor is a statue in front of the park. A rival high school decided to send a message regarding football championships. Their canvas was McGregor. And Orsini had a real heart attack? So why didn't his son get the business?"

Jim threw back his head and laughed. Blair knew it had nothing to do with their odd conversational habits or his story and everything to do with the fact that they were in the same room - together. He was about to say something when Jim's cell phone started ringing. Jim's laughter died with a groan as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and, after checking the number, said, "Simon? No kidding. He's right in front of me. Yeah, he cut his hair. Sure, I'll tell him. You'd better not, no, no, safer that way."

Blair watched, his eyes taking in every beloved feature, while Jim listened to Simon.

Jim was alive. Alive.

"... so we just have to get through this weekend and on Monday morning, when the DA calls my name - I walk in and put Milton away for life."

"Because while he didn't kill Orsini, he did kill Aldo Orsini," Blair said.

"Exactly."

"And you saw it."

"Yep. And not from three miles away, or even three hundred yards away. I was on pier A-21 and they were on Milton's boat, The Gladiator, anchored to pier A-22. Even you would have been able to see the murder. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get over to them in time to stop him from taking off. The Harbor Patrol caught him though. He was arrested, the DA went ahead with the charge and he was arraigned. Bail was denied and the trial date was set. The trial started and five days before I was due to testify-"

"The attempt on your life," Blair supplied as he shifted sideways on the couch before taking another sip of coffee.

"Yep."

Jim lifted Blair's legs and laid them across his own as Blair said, "But how did you know that attempt was-"

"We don't know it, but we're pretty damn sure Milton was behind it. And it was sheer luck I wasn't killed. The damn glove compartment popped open and I leaned over to close it. That's when the bullet slammed into the windshield. I jerked, hit the horn accidentally, and that was all she wrote."

"But how did you-"

"Once I realized there was no possible way of finding the guy, let alone in the crowd of teen revelers, I played dead. Fortunately Reynolds and Stauffer were the first on the scene. When they opened my door, I-"

"Told them what to do. Of course. Brilliant, man. Just brilliant."

"Yep. Shrouded body, blood all over the truck, ambulances, yellow tape, the works. And trust me, morgues are damn cold."

"Wait, you let them put real blood - in your truck?" Blair asked in disbelief.

Jim shrugged. "Hardly, but the squib blood worked just fine. Even so, I made sure they got it all out."

"I just bet you did," Blair said with a grin.

They'd been talking for what seemed like hours, catching up, sitting close, intimately close, voices constantly showcasing their amazement that they were, indeed, in the same room. That they were together.

The sun was finally going down, and soon Blair wouldn't be able to see Jim, and he understood that no lights would be turned on - could be turned on. After all, the loft was supposed to be empty. The groceries Jim had purchased - groceries it turned out he wasn't supposed to have gone out after - consisted of roasted chicken, three-bean salad, macaroni salad, and egg-potato salad. Jim hadn't changed a bit. And who else could have snuck out, made it to the market and back again, with nobody the wiser? But it had been a risk.

Blair frowned. It had been a risk. A big one. The kind... Jim would not normally have made, let alone for store-bought roast chicken.

"Uhm, Jim? What in the hell possessed you to sneak out for food? That isn't you."

"I was going stir crazy, what can I say?"

Blair cocked his head, closed one eye, and peered at him through the other one. "Jim?"

"What?"

He waited.

"What?" Jim said with more impatience in his voice.

"It was a foolish thing to do and you don't do foolish."

Jim looked away as he muttered, "Tell that to Simon. He'd argue with you."

Blair shook his head in disgust. "You've been a real pain in the ass since I left, haven't you?"

"Humph."

"Taking chances, doing the loner thing again-"

"Not hardly. Thanks to you, I ended up with Connor."

"Huh-oh."

"Now you've got it, sonny boy."

One messy eyebrow arched. "Sonny boy?"

Jim grinned.

"God, I've missed you," Blair said.

The grin faded. "Evidently not enough, Chief."

"Aw, come on, Jim. We've had this conversation. Twice. I needed to make a clean break-"

"Why? That's what I don't understand. We're friends. Okay, so you felt the only way to protect me was to leave, but damn it, we're friends. We can talk, we can visit. I could have come to-"

Blair swung his legs off of Jim's and got to his feet. "No, no, no. Clean break, it was the only way, man."

Jim sat forward, eyes easily taking in Blair and his pacing even in the encroaching darkness. "That makes no sense, Sandburg. None. There's email and phones, you know? I have vacations - you have vacations. There are holidays. What there wasn't, was a damn good reason for disappearing, for forgetting that you had friends here who cared."

Blair stopped his pacing, ran suddenly nervous fingers through short curls, and said, "Jim, are we behaving even remotely like... just good friends? Is that what that was over there when you found me? Was I just missing a good friend in that damn church when I thought you were lying in that damn casket?"

"What exactly are you saying, Chief?"

Blair shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You're a real piece of work, Ellison."

"Cause if you're saying what I think you're saying," Jim said as if Blair hadn't said a word, "then I have to ask: what the hell are you doing over there, when you could be over here?"

Looking suspicious, Blair said, "What exactly are you saying, Jim?"

"I'm saying, get that cute ass of yours over here, Sandburg."

"Cute ass? CUTE ass? All these years and suddenly I have a cute ass?"

"Oh, you've always had a cute ass, Chief. Always."

"And you noticed this... when?" Blair asked with a head waggle.

"Well, I'd like to say on that first day, but I wasn't at my best. So let's go a bit further into the relationship and say-"

He didn't get any further as suddenly Blair was standing between his legs and staring down at him.

"Blair?"

"Jim," Blair said with a sly smile.

"Blair, when I said get over here - come on, Chief, we're under surveillance."

"As in sound? As in-"

"Well, no, but-"

"You're the one who asked me to get my you-know-what over here, so shut up and show me how much you like my... you-know-what."

***

Blair ran his fingers down the back of Jim's neck as he murmured, "Who knew?"

Head resting over Blair's heart, Jim mumbled back, "Who knew what?"

"Just... who knew."

Jim smiled against Blair's skin. "I suspected," he said smugly.

Blair bopped him lightly on the side of the head. "Liar."

"Am not. You're hot, and there's that cute ass. How could it not have been great?"

Blair's laughter rumbled through Jim and his grin widened.

"How did I miss those clues? I'm hot and the cute ass. Has nothing to do with you, right?"

"What, you don't like my ass?"

Blair slid his hand under the sheet and rubbed it over said ass. "Oh, trust me. You have a very nice butt. One of the best - if not the best - in Cascade. Oh, hell, the entire state."

"Now you're talking."

Blair scooted down a bit, which brought Jim's head close enough to rest his own on, as he said, "You were dead and for almost three days, I was living in a world where you were no longer. Could you not do that ever again?"

"I'm sorry, Chief. We never expected the story to leave Cascade."

"It didn't. I... uhm... well, you see, I order the paper special. It comes into this little newsstand and... and I picked it up on Wednesday and got home, and there it was."

Reluctantly, Jim lifted his head to look at Blair. The shadow of remembered grief was so clear in Blair's eyes that it almost took Jim's breath away. "God, Chief, I'm so sorry. So very sorry. We just had no idea - and the story was so well controlled - and it just--"

Blair kissed him.

When they finally parted, Blair said, somewhat breathlessly, "You're alive, you're here, and you're mine. That's all that matters now."

Jim licked his bottom lip and said, "Yours, eh?"

"Mine."

Jim sat up and rested against the pillows. "I may be yours, but we're leading separate lives now. This isn't going to be so easy - finding a way to mesh them."

Jim's tone was light, but his words weren't. In fact, they served to give Blair an effect similar to being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. "Damn," he said. "You're right. And nothing's changed. Nothing."

Jim took Blair's hand in his and smiled. "Wrong. Everything's changed. We grew up."

"Jim, that's a real nice sentiment - and damn clever too - and if I were writing this, that would be the ending, but in reality, you're the Sentinel of the Great City and I'm a fraud. There's no life for me here, grown up or not."

"So - I go to Laytonville with you. No biggie," Jim said easily.

Blair squeezed the hand holding his and said, "Nice thought, but Laytonville isn't Cascade. The crime sprees are pretty much restricted to the odd drunken brawl on Saturday nights and the occasional vandalism perpetrated by the youth of Laytonville when it's too hot to do anything constructive and they're bored out of their skulls - or it's football, baseball, or basketball season."

"Well, are you really married to remaining in Laytonville? Because if not, we could move to San Francisco or Los Angeles, or some other crime-laden city."

"Except -- this is your city, Jim. Your heart is here and this is where you're meant to be."

"If that's true, then no problem, because I'm meant to be with you and if I'm also meant to be here, then we're meant to be here, which means we both stay here - somehow. After all, it's been a year, Chief. And you have a year of real law enforcement under your belt. This could work. We're old news. Hell, even with my death, that whole 'Sentinel' thing never came up. I think we can make this happen."

Blair felt hope uncurl itself and wind its way around his chest. Maybe Jim was right.

"Look, we have a weekend together, just the two of us. Let's not worry until after court on Monday, all right?" Jim suggested.

Blair rolled over - and consequently onto Jim - and said, "I like your thinking, man. You, leftover chicken, no lights... yeah, I'm down with that plan."

Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose and said, "I thought you might be."

After Blair made a quick call to Joe on his cell, explaining that he'd be staying a couple of extra days, he and Jim settled into a routine of sex, talk and more sex. On Monday, as they both shaved, Blair in front and leaning right to Jim's left, Blair said, "So I'll just slip into the courtroom and-"

Jim stopped an upward stroke. "Excuse me?"

"What, you think I'm going to wait here? I don't think so. I'm going."

Jim looked at him in the mirror - and grinned. "Right," he finally said. "But you stay close to Simon, all right?"

"Goes without saying."

Jim gave a little shake of his head. "If only that were true," he muttered.

***

Monday had been carefully scripted and planned by Major Crime - and the addition of Blair into the mix barely caused a ripple. Other than the fact that everyone was ecstatic at his return.

At seven-thirty, Blair got into his rental and headed for the courthouse. There was no reason to believe he'd cause a stir to anyone who might be watching the building - he'd simply be an exiting resident. Thirty minutes later, Jim left via the back exit and immediately got into Simon's car.

The day was on its way.

Resisting the urge to sit in the front row with Megan, Henri, Rafe and Joel, Blair slid into a chair in the back. The courtroom was full, with the media artists in the seats across the aisle from Major Crime. The tension in the room was almost palpable, with everyone wondering how the DA would fight the devastating testimony from Friday. Without his star witness, the case was a slam dunk for the Defense and the news media were fully prepared to record the moment Leonard Milton was set free. They'd hate it, but they'd also make it front page news and prime time sound bytes.

At nine sharp, Judge Paul Mason took the bench. The trial had continued following Jim's "death" and Milton's lawyers had rested their defense following the testimony Friday afternoon of their star witness, Crystal Lanning. She'd been on the boat with the defendant and claimed to have been below with him when Orsini was killed. Now Judge Mason, knowing that the DA had no witness to refute her testimony, turned to him and said, "Mr. Elliot, do you wish to cross-examine?"

Jefferson Elliot rose to his feet. "Your Honor, the State wishes to reserve that right for a later time. At the moment, we would like to call a rebuttal witness."

Marcus Evans, Milton's high-priced lawyer, jumped to his feet. "Your honor, the Prosecution has rested and we were given no prior--"

"Your honor," Elliot interrupted, "this particular witness was on our original list. There is no surprise here - other than the fact that he's alive to testify."

Judge Mason leaned forward. "Perhaps you'd better explain, Mr. Elliot."

"My witness is Detective James Ellison."

A few simple words - and the courtroom exploded.

It took Judge Mason twenty minutes to regain order. When he finally succeeded, he said, "Mr. Elliot, I think another explanation might be wise."

"Your honor, following the attempt on Detective Ellison's life, we did the only thing that made sense in order to protect him - we made it appear as if the attempt had been successful. But he's here, and he's fully prepared to testify."

Nodding sagely, and with a gleam of triumph in his eyes, Mason said, "Very well. Let's hear from Detective Ellison."

Evans was on his feet again. "Your Honor, this is highly irregular and I must renew my objection."

"Mr. Evans, Detective Ellison was on the list of submitted witnesses. Your objection is overruled. Now sit down."

"Exception," Evans said with a look at his client.

"Noted."

From his spot in the back, Blair grinned. Damn, this was better than an episode of Law and Order.

The courtroom doors opened and Jim, escorted by one of the court officers with Simon only a few feet behind. walked in. He walked up to the gate, paused long enough to smile at Milton, then pushed it open and took the necessary steps to bring him to the witness box. Simon took his seat next to Joel as Jim was sworn in.

Thirty minutes later - it was over.

Milton's defense team couldn't put a dent in Jim's testimony and they'd been so shocked at even being faced with having to do so that they never regained their equilibrium.

Judge Mason called for a fifteen minute recess, which gave Elliot time to approach Lanning in order to remind her that she'd now be facing perjury charges unless she'd like to recant her testimony. She wisely chose to recant.

When court resumed, Elliot informed the judge that he would, indeed, like to cross-examine Miss Lanning, whereupon she changed her version of the events surrounding Orsini's death - thus adding the final nail in Milton's coffin. At eleven, the case was turned over to the jury.

Blair really didn't expect them to be out more than hour but, due to the lunch break, one spent with Jim and the rest of Major Crime, it was after one before the jury informed the court that they had their verdict.

Everyone filed back in, but this time, Blair sat in the front row - next to Jim - with Simon on the other side. During lunch, he'd been overwhelmed by the affection showered upon him by his friends, all of them making a big deal over his hair. Henri had ruffled his fingers through the short curls while whining, "I can't call you Hairboy anymore."

Laughing, Jim had said, "Brown, you've seen his chest - trust me, Hairboy still fits."

Now they all sat together, a tight-knit family, awaiting the verdict. There was no doubt of the outcome, but once the verdict was read, Blair knew their jobs wouldn't be over. They still needed to prove Milton had hired the hit on Jim. But at least the man would be behind bars and Jim would be safe, and that was all that mattered to Blair.

***

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. It was over, the guilty verdict having surprised no one. Jim had called his father and brother, both of whom had been in on the fake death all along, and now Major Crime was trying to get Jim safely out of the courthouse, microphones and flash bulbs notwithstanding. Henri and Joel ran interference and, somehow, they made it outside. A statement would be needed and Simon was ready to give it, if Blair was any judge.

Questions were being yelled out fast and furious from the mob of reporters and Blair managed to keep a hand on Jim, hoping to keep him focused and grounded - which he thought was probably ridiculous since Jim had been without for an entire year.

"Detective Ellison! Do you think the attempt on your life was orchestrated by Milton?"

"Detective Ellison! How do you feel about the verdict?"

"What happens now? Do you have any leads?"

Simon moved ahead and held up his arms. They were at the top of the stairs with the reporters in a semi-circle a couple of steps down. Video cameras were recording, lights and microphones hanging in the air or being shoved forward. Simon, head high and looking every inch the captain that he was, cleared his throat and the questions stopped.

"Detective Ellison is very pleased with the verdict as are we all. As far as the investigation into the attempt on his life is concerned, yes, it's proceeding forward and as soon as I know anything - you will. We believe--"

Simon never really got any further. From behind them, the doors to the courthouse had opened and Leonard Milton's people, including his brother, exited. At the curb, two men stood by a limousine and one of them, a coat draped over his arm, rushed up the stairs toward Pete Milton. Blair, wisely hanging back, watched out the corner of his eye, and what he witnessed caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

Pete Milton was pulling a gun from the pocket of the coat that had just been handed to him. His face was a pale mask, eyes dark and unreadable. He turned toward Jim and raised his arm.

For Blair, it seemed he couldn't speak or move fast enough. The yelled, "JIM!" was torn from his throat even as he managed to pull his feet from what he had to conclude was quicksand. He barreled forward, hands outstretched, reaching... endlessly reaching.

There was the sound of gunfire even as he hit Jim. There were screams and yells and more gunfire and they were going down hard and bodies were on top of them and there was more yelling and crying and screaming and he couldn't breathe but he really didn't care - as long as Jim was all right. There was pain and this was followed by his last thought, which was that it would be utterly ridiculous to come all this way for Jim's funeral - then to find out he was alive - only to then attend his funeral. Just - too ridiculous.

"Sandburg? Can you hear me?"

"I think he hit his head, Jim."

"Yeah, I can feel the bump--"

"Chief, come on, open those blue eyes of yours...."

Blair could hear them through the fog and thought all they needed to do was come closer. Sheesh. Oh, man, his head hurt big time. He brought his hand up but couldn't seem to find his head, which was kind of weird. He knew it should be on his neck, right? Right.

"That's it, Chief. No, don't touch. You've got a goose egg on that noggin of yours."

"Jim?" he said weakly.

"Yeah, it's me. Can you sit up?"

He cracked open one eye and immediately shut it again. The good news was that Jim's face had briefly swam into view - which meant Jim was alive. The bad news was that the pain had been excruciating. He felt a strong arm under him and he was slowly lifted to a sitting position. He really wanted to warn everyone that in all likelihood, his head would fall off now, but talking was too difficult.

Oh, that was nice. His head was cushioned. Very nice.

"Oh, shit, Ellison, you're bleeding. Where the hell are those paramedics?"

Bleeding? Jim was... bleeding?

Blair sat straight up and opened his eyes. "Jim? You're bleeding?"

"Whoa, rest back, Chief. It's a burn, nothing more. Bullet barely touched me."

At Blair's disbelieving look, Jim showed him his forearm. "See?"

And Blair could. A crease through Jim's suit and a long, jagged red line on pale skin. Relieved, Blair sighed and dropped back. "Cool," he murmured.

He was unaware of the look Simon exchanged with Jim over his head, but he heard Simon's remark.

"How long has he been back in Cascade, Jim?"

"Four days."

"Four days and he's already on his way to the hospital. Figures."

Without opening his eyes, Blair muttered, "I resemble that remark."

***

"Here."

Blair glanced up and, with a quick "Thanks," accepted the hot tea. He sipped it gingerly as Jim sat down next to him. After the tea worked its warm wonders, he asked, "How's the arm?"

"Fine. Don't even have to mess with the dials. How's the head?"

"Fine."

Jim grinned. "Gee, just like old times."

Before Blair could come back with a witty retort - and he was positive it would have been - Jim said, "Here comes Simon. Hang on a minute."

He got up and strolled over to the door, waited a moment, then opened it with a flourish. "Simon."

"Jim. And don't look so smug. I'm used to you opening the door before I get to it."

Looking only slightly chagrined, Jim shut it behind Simon and asked, "Any news?"

"Tons. Drink?"

"What'll you have?"

"I'm off duty so a beer would be nice."

"Coming right up," Jim said as he moved to the fridge.

Simon took his coat off, hung it up, and, as he walked over to the yellow chair, asked, "So, Blair, how's the head?"

"On tight, Simon. On tight."

"An improvement then."

"Har-har."

They grinned at each other, their mutual affection shining from their eyes.

Jim walked in, handed Simon his beer and retook his place next to Blair. "So? Spill."

"The bullet we dug out of the courthouse wall matched the one fired into your truck, Jim, and the gun is registered to one Peter Milton. We've got him cold."

"Wait, you mean he's the one who initially tried to kill Jim? Himself? It wasn't a hit?"

Simon nodded happily. "He's always been a hothead and, well, he finally went over the top. Decided to take matters into his own hands and take Jim out of the picture. He followed you that night, which begs the question: how did you miss him?"

Jim shrugged sheepishly. "You know how it's been, Simon, and didn't we already hash this over after it happened?"

"I take it your senses have been less than reliable in the last year?" Blair asked, disgust clear in his voice.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I did my best, remembered everything you ever taught me. But this was a case of-"

"Emotions," Simon finished for him. "Your emotions got in the way every day of every week this guy," he jerked a thumb at Blair, "wasn't here. Admit it."

Blair turned to face Jim and, as he batted his eyelashes, said, "Yeah, admit it."

Jim gave him a little shove and said, "Jerk."

"Gentlemen?"

Both men said in unison, "Simon?"

"As I was saying? Today, on the courthouse steps, we were witness to his further stupidity and very poor aim."

Blair's eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"

"Okay, okay, his stupidity and your quick moves."

Blair ducked his head. "Thank you, Simon. It was nothing."

"If you don't count a slight concussion," Jim muttered.

"And we're not, because we're not counting your... what should we call it? Your flesh wound?" Blair asked.

"It doesn't even count as that," Jim said with a harrumph.

"Oh, go ahead, say it," Blair urged. "You know you want to."

Jim rolled his eyes and said, "It's just... a scratch. There. I said it. You happy now?"

"Delirious," Blair said just before bursting into laughter.

Simon watched the two men and sighed contentedly. This was good. Very good. This was the way it was supposed to be.

Without taking his eyes from Blair, Jim said, as if knowing exactly what Simon had been thinking, "Unless you do something, Blair will be going back to Laytonville and taking up his life as - hold onto your hat - Deputy Sheriff Sandburg. Unless you do something. And of course, if he goes back because there's nothing for him here - I'll have to go with him."

Stunned, Simon said, "Wait, you left us and ended up in law enforcement anyway?"

"Simon, he didn't leave to avoid carrying. You're a captain, figure it out."

Blair ducked his head again, but this time clearly in embarrassment. Simon frowned in thought, and as he watched Blair, the pieces fell into place. He gave out with a snort of disgust and said, "I don't believe you, Sandburg. You couldn't trust us to take care of things? You couldn't-"

Blair's head shot up, eyes blazing with anger. "I did trust you, Simon. With Jim. I trusted you all with him."

Simon blinked several times while his mouth moved silently in perfect counterpoint to his blinking. Finally he snapped it shut.

"Simon, Blair did what he thought was the best for all of us. Taking himself out of the picture was his answer. It was a foolish answer, certainly a courageous answer, but totally the wrong answer."

Simon huffed a bit and said, "I'll say."

Blair gave out with a dramatic sigh while holding up his hand and making a chatter motion. "Yadda-yadda."

Jim reached over and patted Blair's knee. "There, there, it's okay. You're here now, and Uncle Simon is going to fix everything and make it better." He turned expectantly to Simon, "Aren't you, Simon?"

"What, I'm just supposed to wave my hand and make a miracle happen?"

The two men opposite nodded in perfect sync.

"Oh. Well, then. I guess I should get out of here and get the magic ball rolling."

"That would be good, Simon. Very good," Jim said as he rose to walk Simon to the door. "And thanks so much for dropping by."

Simon stopped at the door, turned, looked at Jim, and stuck out his tongue. Laughing, Jim slapped him on the back as Simon said, "Sandburg, watch that head of yours and stay out of trouble until I get things set up. Understood?"

Blair, who'd turned around on the couch, now gave Simon a jaunty salute. "Aye, aye, Sir."

"You know, Jim, he's really... short."

"Yes, sir, I know," Jim said sympathetically.

Scratching his head and muttering something about short, mouthy Sandburgs, Simon headed for the elevator. Jim closed the door, locked it, and said, "Alone at last, Chief."

Blair stretched his arms up, yawned, and said, "Yep. And I was just thinking that a nice nap would be-"

"That's what you're calling it now? A 'nap'?"

Blair gave out with a bark of a laugh and said, "Whatever floats your boat, Jimbo."

Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully and finally said, "I could nap you."

A scruffy eyebrow rose. "Well, what a coincidence. I could most certainly nap you."

Jim held out his hand. "So?"

Blair immediately jumped up, and over, the back of the couch. "All righty then, let's nap, man."

Laughing, Jim took his partner's hand and they headed upstairs. For a nap.

***

Pizza, stuffed breadsticks, antipasto salad and wine decorated the dining room table. Both men, wearing nothing but boxers, sat next to each other as they served themselves. As Blair plopped the second piece of chicken, mushroom and goat cheese pizza on his plate, he said, "You know, I'll have to go back tomorrow. I can't leave Joe short-handed like this. Plus I'll need to-"

"I have tons of vacation time, Chief. I'll go with. Besides, I want to meet the people who took care of you for the last year."

Blair paused in the dousing of his antipasto with more oil and vinegar to stare at Jim. "Excuse me? Deputy Sheriff here? I was the one doing the looking after."

"So no friends to help you, then?" Jim asked, knowing full well that Blair couldn't go anywhere without making friends.

"Well, of course there were - are - friends. But they didn't need to look after me. I'm a big boy. Can take care of myself."

Jim looked pointedly down at Blair's groin and said, "I can attest to part of that statement. But come on, you were miserable and you know it. And once you showed up in Laytonville with those puppy dog looks - the town fell, hook, line and sinker."

"I do NOT have puppy dog looks, eyes, or anything else even remotely puppy-like. Doberman Pincher, maybe, but puppy? Pul-eeze."

Jim laughed heartily as he lifted a piece of his "with everything" pizza slice. He curled it in on itself as he said, "Doberman? Doberman? Okay, fine - Blair the toy Doberman."

"You are such a schmuck." He eyed the curled slice and watched as it entered Jim's mouth. "Good thing I really love schmucks," he finally said as he fanned himself with one of the paper plates.

Jim chomped and grinned.

***

"Simon's here," Jim announced from the kitchen sink where he was washing the wine glasses. "Get my robe, will you?"

"What, you think he'll be bothered by two manly men in boxers?"

"Chief? Robe? Now?"

Laughing, Blair ran upstairs and grabbed both their robes. He slipped into his, tied it off and hurried back down. Halfway to the kitchen, he balled up Jim's and said, "Catch." He lobbed it overhand and Jim caught it neatly. He'd just belted it when the knock came. Blair opened the door and let Simon in.

"Hey, good news?" he said as he closed the door.

"Is that pizza I smell?" Simon said as he sniffed the now clean dining room table.

Jim looked at Blair and asked, "Yours or mine?"

"Oh, like Simon would enjoy mushroom and goat cheese pizza?"

Simon scrunched up his face and Jim said grudgingly, "Mine." He took the foiled wrapped pizza back out of the fridge, got another paper plate and a beer, and handed them over to his friend.

Eyes gleaming, Simon sat down, unwrapped the pizza, which hadn't been in the fridge long enough to get cold, and said, "I've been in the with Commissioner all day and I'm starved."

Jim rolled his eyes and got out the leftover antipasto salad.

***

Simon sat back and patted his stomach. "Okay, that was terrific. Thanks, guys."

"Jim's pleasure," Blair said with a wicked grin.

"Okay, okay, so any news? What's the word?" Jim asked as he leaned forward.

Simon looked from one to the other and said, "Are you guys wearing... robes?"

Blair looked down at his blue plaid flannel robe and said, "No. Why?"

"Never mind, I don't want to know," Simon muttered.

"What's to know? We're wearing robes, Simon," Jim said as he bit back a grin.

"I said, I don't want to know. Just - forget it. Okay, here's the deal. Truncated version of the academy and Sandburg's back in."

"Uh... what exactly does 'truncated' version mean?" Blair asked.

"It means you take the exchange program version. Four weeks, nine to five, and you're grandfathered in. I'll need a letter from your boss back in... in-"

"Laytonville."

"Yeah, that. He'll need to confirm dates of employment, etc. The next exchange class is in two weeks, lucky you."

Jim perked up. "Two weeks? So Sandburg has two weeks?"

"That's what I said. And mind if I get another beer?"

"Help yourself, Simon," Jim said as he shared a knowing look with Blair. As Simon took out a bottle, Jim said, "Uhm, you know, Blair will have to go back to Laytonville, give his notice, say goodbye, pack up, and all. And since I have plenty of vacation-"

"If this is your way of asking for some time off-"

"Why Simon, first you think we're wearing nothing but our robes and now you think Jim is actually asking for time off?"

"And here I've been telling myself how much I missed Sandburg while he was gone."

"Silly you," Jim said with a wink.

"Okay, okay, so you're going with him to Laytonville, but first, I need that letter. Can you get it before you leave?"

"Sure, Simon. Joe will send it directly to you. I'll call him later."

"Good. Then my work here is done. I've finished off Jim's leftovers, seen you two in your bathrobes, and spread good cheer. Yep, I'm outta here."

***

"Okay," Blair said as he jumped on the bed. "Joe will fax the letter to Simon in the next hour. He's not happy, but he's glad you're alive and said if he had to lose me - well, you get the idea." Blair did a couple of butt bounces, grinning at Jim the whole time.

"You don't seem very upset to be leaving Joe and the others," Jim said as his head followed Blair's bouncing.

"I am - sort of. In that, 'I've had every dream come true' kind of way. I'll miss them all, very much. Joe helped me through those tough early days - knowing all along who I was - and Blue and his wife, well, you'll get a chance to meet them, so I guess this is more like a merging of two lives, you know?"

Jim grabbed a hold of the still bouncing man and pulled him onto his body. Brushing the short curls from Blair's face, he said, "Can't wait to meet 'em, and - wanna nap?"

"Always, man. Always."

***

"Detective, it's a real pleasure meeting you," Joe said as he stuck out his hand.

"Please, it's Jim."

They shook and, as Joe led them out of the airport, he said, "Then I'm Joe."

The drive to Laytonville was spent with Joe regaling Jim with stories of Blair, and Jim doing the same while Blair found himself in the backseat grumbling - when he wasn't protesting loudly that both men needed to understand the proper times for exaggeration - like when telling about a fishing trip, or your golf game.

By the time they drove up to Blair's bungalow, Jim and Joe were old friends and Blair found his grumbling had been downgraded to nonsensical mutterings. Laughing, Joe left at the doorway to Blair's home, but only after receiving a promise to meet at seven, at Meryl's, for dinner.

Blair unlocked the front door and stepped in. "Well, here it is, my home-away-from-home."

Jim looked around, nodding thoughtfully. "This is very nice, Chief. And your own bit of yard out there?" he asked as he walked toward the French doors that took up the back wall of the living room.

"Yeah, my own little bit of greenery," Blair said as he dumped his luggage on the floor by the couch and started going through the mail.

Jim opened the doors and breathed deep. "This is incredible, Sandburg. The view, the smell, and your 'little bungalow' is roomy, airy and obviously quite comfortable,"

"It had almost everything, Jim," Blair said as he smiled at the older man. "Almost everything."

Jim turned to face his partner and grinned. "Bedroom?"

"Down the hallway, second door on your right. Bathroom is the first door."

Jim took off and Blair could hear every comment.

"Wow, a real old-fashioned bathtub, Sandburg. With legs. And the cabinet work is extraordinary." Then, "My God, the view from your bedroom is unbelievable. And a walk-in closet? Some bungalow."

Finally Jim came back out and shocked the hell out of Blair by saying, "Is this place for sale? We should buy it, Chief. Eventually retire here, maybe? And in the meantime - it's our vacation home-away-from-home. What do you think? A true meshing of two lives?"

Blair suddenly found his throat closing up and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. He could find no words, so simply walked over to Jim and put his arms around him.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what did I say?" Jim asked as he wrapped his own arms around Blair.

"Just... just never change, Jim. Just... never change."

"So is that a yes to buying?"

***

"God, smell that fresh air," Jim said as he breathed in deep.

"All I smell is us," Blair said with a chuckle.

Jim swatted the naked butt under his hand and nuzzled his nose in dark, unruly curls. "That's almost as good as the smell of wine country."

It was their last morning in Laytonville and Joe would be arriving in less than two hours to take them to the airport. The night before, the town had given Blair one hell of a going-away party in spite of the fact that he and Jim were, indeed, in the process of buying the bungalow. Once Jim found out about River's Run and the gay-owned fishing lodge only fourteen miles outside of Laytonville, buying became no longer a "thought" but an action. Now Blair was content in Jim's arms, in the bed, with the sun streaming in and the scent of blooming flowers surrounding them.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jim asked as stroked his hand across Blair's ass.

"Not worth even that. I'm too happy to have any thoughts."

Fingers of his other hand entwined in Blair's short curls, he gently pulled Blair's head up and said, "While I'm sorry about how the whole death thing came down, I'm also more grateful than I can ever express, Blair. It got you back in my life in the way I'd only been able to dream about. And I'm never letting you go again. Understood?"

"That works. I have no plans of ever letting you go again either. Understood?"

Smiling, Jim kissed him before saying, "Understood. We're stuck with each other from this day forward."

Blair looked down at the point where his chest hair met Jim's smooth skin and said, "With all this semen, yeah, I'd say we are."

Laughing, Jim kissed him again. Long and deep and forever.

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1207>

**Author's Note:**

> Presumed death of a major character.


End file.
